


Poems: Odds and Oddities and Ends

by Randommuse386



Series: portrait of the artist unhinged [1]
Category: Original Work, Poetry - Fandom
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Bad Days, Cheaper than Therapy, Death, Depression, Good Days, Loss, Love, Nostalgia, Poetry, Recovery, Regret, Yearning, emotional grab-bag, happiness, just gonna dump my feelings into the void, mental health, wildly varying poetic forms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randommuse386/pseuds/Randommuse386
Summary: A dumping ground for whatever feelings and things I don’t really want to deal with or just random thoughts I think are Cool, in vaguely poetic form, including but not limited to: loss, anger, love, depression, mental health, tomfoolery, all that jazz; marked as complete but will add to now and again
Series: portrait of the artist unhinged [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766164
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Nine-Tenths of the Law

your ghost rains down in pieces tonight  
that tap and sigh and sing  
pooling in the cracks of where  
your footfalls may have been  
clinging to the fingerprints   
pressed into glass and skin  
burning trails that mix with salt  
and linger, haunting, within  
a brisk blast of petrichor   
an anesthetic to the chest  
to soothe the knife of your perfume  
that carves in and comes to rest  
parched earth and drier throat   
whisper out a note held aloft  
rasping edges eroded down   
muted, dangerous, and soft  
colors bleed together as the  
street lights crack and disperse  
a mirror caught halfway   
as it shatters in reverse  
my hands become a cradle   
overflowing, floating, drowning  
they curl and dive and break  
for air, your last lesson resounding

the harder you claw at something  
the less it feels like yours


	2. Chapter 2

lurk

i have a memory  
of a sun soaked and sweat warm afternoon  
perched high in the air on a ferris wheel  
feeling invincible in only the way a child does  
feet swinging out into nothing  
as my mother laughs beside me  
it sits behind my heart  
the remembered sound  
echoing through each beat  
yet my mother was afraid of heights  
and never went near those  
rickety fair rides

i don’t have a memory  
just a scar in the place where it should be  
slicing along my right pinky  
worn pale and smooth by fidgeting fingers  
trying to coax out its origins  
but coming back with nothing more  
than blurred weeks of apathy  
and vague regret  
depression stealing away time and details  
until the only thing my brain can produce  
is a general sense of doom  
nestled inside such a small line

i have memories  
in the shape of photographs  
only recalled through paper and ink  
frozen smiles captured and pinned back  
like a butterfly on display  
proof that these moments were alive  
vibrating on forgotten chords in my recollection until they fade away  
as soon as they are out of sight

my memory has grown a will of its own  
tugging me along like a confused child  
to play a game of hide and seek  
where I never quite catch  
its shadow around the corner 

i think I have a memory  
but it might just have me by its teeth


	3. Chapter 3

Social Anxiety? Don’t Know Her  
  
Such a small string of words can strike me dumb and knock me flat.  
How do I answer? With the pre-programmed and knee-jerk  
expectation?  
Or the itemized list of hastily corralled truths?  
Do I mention the hot rush filling my cheeks  
and burning into my palms,  
or the fractured ice splintering along my spine  
and pushing up beneath my skin?  
The disappearance of my stomach and  
subsequent reappearance in my chest  
is always a fun experience to expand upon,  
and it leads to the fascinating relocation of my heart  
to its pounding in between my ears.  
Would you like to hear about  
the sandpaper I’ve apparently swallowed  
and the awkwardly intent awareness  
I suddenly have about my fingers?  
Surely they’ve never acted so independently from my brain,  
alternating between  
chaotic jazz hands  
and  
knotted up ropes.  
Can you imagine the feeling of abandonment,  
when your feet have so clearly left the rest of your body behind  
like spooked horses?  
How about the frustration of your brain  
becoming a surly cat,  
pretending to sleep on and ignore  
your bids and bribes for attention?  
  
Should I then open my mouth and let the real words out?  
The ones that have been clawing and scratching their way up my throat  
And prowling behind my clenched teeth.  
Which topic would you like:  
my rage against an unjust world  
my desire to learn the finer points of baking  
a disastrous choice of childhood best friend  
the lingering loss of my mother  
the sudden heat wave  
the all-encompassing dread that I will never be as happy  
as my eight year old self pretending  
to be a lizard for three days  
This list could go on ad infinitum,  
ad nauseam, add whatever you like  
if I could just relax the bolts holding my jaws so tightly together.  
But my tool box against social ineptitudes seems to be misplaced  
and so I can only squeak out the barest of replies:   
“How are you today?”  
“Oh, me? I’m fine.”


	4. Chapter 4

how does your garden grow?

turn the other cheek and  
be the bigger person and  
take the higher road and  
let go of all your anger for  
forgiveness is supposedly divine

to rage and yell and scream your pain  
to nurture your grudges with the waters of spite  
to tend to your hurts with ugly passion  
these are said not to exist with kindness  
that they will rise like bile through your body  
and burn out the heart of you

but kindness and rage are not at odds  
kindness and spite can feed each other  
kindness can thrive in a bed of pain  
if only nurtured by the tireless gardener  
who does not let the choking weeds  
seize their throat and hands and chest  
with thorns of indifference

i can wake each morning overflowing  
using the rotten parts of me to fertilize kindness  
and my blazing contempt to coax  
buds and leaves to grow  
not in the magazine gloss  
and dew speckled way of perfect petals  
but still standing strong with deep-buried roots

even if the flowers of healing  
or peace  
or forgiveness  
do not blossom in me  
i will be kind  
spitefully and  
vengefully but  
still kind


	5. Chapter 5

celestial body

daybreak settling   
upon your curls  
a crown of morning glory   
that trembles and reforms   
with minute movement  
radiance unbound  
intensifying along regal nose   
and sharp-cut elbows as  
the afternoon light outlines   
and lays gently along   
your edges  
sunset hues roam across   
your back  
gradient of passion spilling   
like warm summer days   
of wine and roses  
coming to rest in fingertips   
pulsing with a need  
to reach out and touch  
and the softer twilight   
creeping over  
settling on the skyline  
of your throat  
and the wings of your   
collarbones  
slaking a quieter thirst   
calling out in  
purple and indigo  
the fan of your lashes  
sweeping up the stars  
into gleaming eyes  
burning out   
into shadow-soft night  
whispering secrets   
cradled by darkness  
the passing hours   
and moving earth  
projecting the changing sky  
across your skin  
to bathe you in wild nature   
and joy


	6. Chapter 6

transformation tuesday 

i used to think myself  
a speck of dust  
the leftover and forgotten bits  
of the better people that surrounded me  
only beautiful when my particles  
were lit briefly by their shining rays  
of vicarious value and worth  
drifting aimlessly through  
air and space and time  
unmoored and unable  
to gather myself  
in any semblance or form  
guided only by the winds of  
universal whims  
and thinking how quiet  
to be swept up and cease  
existing for a while

now I’m more atoms than dust  
still minuscule within  
such great wide space  
but more solid and complex  
coalescing elements  
that become cells and  
body and thoughts and emotion  
base units of the universe coming together  
to comprehend itself  
with my own fledgling sun  
burning at my core to warm  
the planets and stars and galaxies  
i had once been


	7. Chapter 7

feral

damp moist earth  
with a dark bitter taste  
packed in our throats  
all our words gone to waste  
cruel hands press down  
choking marks on our necks  
the language of silence  
as we’re put to rest  
lay us down shallow  
we’ll be back soon  
you’ve committed your crime  
can’t get away with it too  
we’ve been here before  
put out and cut down  
made to shrink and submit  
or we’re shoved in the ground  
another fist in our chest  
another knife at our spine  
dying’s just another way  
to pass along time  
the trick you’ll never find  
thanks to ego and conceit  
our graves should’ve disappeared  
you should’ve dug deep  
we may be used to dying  
but our deaths don’t come free  
the cost is rage and spite in spades  
mixed in with vicious glee  
knuckles burn bone white  
as we claw and tunnel through  
screams tear and rip the air  
as we’re born anew  
dirt caked under fingernails  
and flaking off our feet  
we smile with deadly flowers  
blooming in our teeth

it’s the last thing you’ll ever see


	8. Chapter 8

feast  


your smile cool and refreshing  
against the heat of my mouth  
cream and sugar lingering  
in the press of your breath  
craving born and buried deep  
growing louder with the soft touch  
of nails down my spine  
sweet like slow melting chocolate  
the champagne of your laughter  
sharp and bright  
bubbles up and overtakes me  
lightheaded and reeling for days after  
i’m in awe of your decadence  
wanting more and more  
to live in these moments of  
indulgence

such gluttony never ends well

now you sneer at me in tart bitter anger  
the sting of ruby red grapefruit   
left behind on my tongue  
hands tipped with carving knives   
and dangerous precision   
know just where to dig in and hurt  
your laugh has gone flat and stale  
leaving me thirsty for days long past  
but the worst are your eyes  
changing from a warm simmer  
to a rolling boil  
enough to lift the lids  
and reveal the hungry stomachs  
waiting for dinner to be served

i don’t know how to not let you consume me


	9. Chapter 9

chemical imbalance

i found a fascinating forest  
light and green and sweet  
a lovely place to get away  
and rest my weary feet  
leaves rustling greetings  
trails with ends unknown  
made me believe in magic  
a wondrous place to roam  
breeze beckoned out  
from plant and tree and rock  
soft murmuring of secrets  
my curiosity caught  
so further and further I tread

i lost myself in a wandering wood  
cool and dark and deep  
where the earth turned hard  
and I couldn’t find rest or sleep  
teeth flashing in the night  
eyes smirking mean and wide  
made me believe in monsters  
no place left to hide  
shadows curled and crawled  
shivering along my seams  
whispering honeyed thorns  
my throat stuck in a scream  
so faster and faster I fled

i stumbled upon a quiet clearing  
strange and bleak and still  
weeds and roots come to greet  
with a lazy vicious thrill  
towering walls rising up  
door a yawning jaw  
made me believe in fear  
pulse run ragged and raw  
a hum of building thunder  
filled my ears up syrup thick  
time slipped down and sideways  
and I crossed that threshold quick  
so full and full of dread

i can’t escape this haunting house  
cracked and cold and mine  
splintering wood and blood-warm guts  
all perfectly entwined  
my brain trapped in the attic  
my heart on the frigid hearth  
made me believe in curses  
no cure I could unearth  
the only sound in silence  
slithering up and through my frame  
wears my voice as its cloak  
no one else to blame  
so forget and forget this thread  
it’s all just in my head


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with it; may scrap or revisit later

part and parcel

i don’t know if i have ever loved  
my body  
i don’t think i was aware of it as a child  
beyond scraped knees or fleeting colds  
i was and i thought and i acted  
with no consideration towards the worth  
of the space i inhabited  
but time has educated me about my place in the world  
slow and insidious and overall astoundingly effective  
i had to look at my body as an appraiser  
applying price and cost where demanded  
all for the profit of what others could make  
the whole becoming pieces and parts  
so numerous i could not hope  
to see the picture they once made  
each day in the mirror  
my eyes were trained to compile  
an itemized inventory of what was  
pretty or useful or ugly or dysfunctional  
numbers and dollar signs enough  
to make me scream and turn away  
but my body would still be there to greet me  
always feeling too full or too hollow  
the core of me stripped away but  
expectation and greed  
too close to the surface  
even now i sometimes flinch  
from talk of self love and acceptance  
any inherent beauty seeming twisted and  
reformed into something unreal  
and still too many voices not my own  
settling on my body like hives  
but i’ve found so much i want to do  
and places i want to travel  
good food to eat and  
delicious company to discover  
any excuse big or small  
to keep my body around  
so day by day  
and even minute by minute  
i do not love myself  
but i do live with myself  
keeping my body as whole as i can  
for the would-be vultures to choke on  
while i bask in a new sunrise


	11. Chapter 11

imposter syndrome 

funny looking out   
and looking in  
for yourself when yourself   
can’t remember   
the last place you’ve been  
just echoes and after-images   
compounding   
collapsing in on infinities  
until you can’t breathe  
find relief  
from the insecurities  
were you ever really there?  
take care but  
you can’t remember where  
in your recollections and reflections  
the art and artifice blend together  
no point of reference  
are you the original or   
the reproduction?  
or even worse the stolen   
imitation?  
all you see are changes  
same face different eyes  
different smiles but same lies  
hands covered in   
silver and chrome  
mirrors distorting things   
you thought were known  
now you don’t know  
won’t know  
can’t know anymore  
set yourself down somewhere  
then walked out the door  
came back to a place  
that wasn’t there before  
can you really not recall  
the trip and fall where  
you lost it all?  
is it forgetfulness or is it that  
sense   
that you’re not who they claim?  
different brain   
same name  
changeling child that finally   
turned strange  
do you deserve it?  
or even worth it?  
the praise they heap in sheets  
and spades  
singing your accolades  
never swayed  
by this mask you think   
you’ve made  
so are you real or just  
really getting in your   
own way?  
who can say?  
definitely not you


	12. Chapter 12

eaten by the projector

i come awake blank  
a new slate to greet the day and   
start to overthink about  
the hours at a time that were  
lost in a blink or  
maybe a sly wink  
those dreams that spill out  
like an oil slick  
from the sides of my head  
a tail end of viscous sheen   
trailing down from my ears  
leaving a fading trickle  
as the film covers me in forgetfulness  
something I can never keep  
and so I wonder what’s hiding   
in the theater of my head  
maybe something stalks   
in between the rows  
and comes to sit behind me  
the faintest trace of teeth  
worrying at my nape  
and the rake of sharp thoughts  
circling my temples  
waiting for distraction to take me  
so it can take in return  
but I haven’t dreamt in years  
nothing lit up on the marquee  
to guide me along  
no clues laid out in technicolor  
for me to rewind and watch back  
maybe it’s kinder not to rewind  
and I should be satisfied  
with the fade to black  
even if the black tends to stick   
around corners and underfoot  
it’s become so familiar   
this show and never tell  
it constricts around my ribs  
when I enter a room without remembering   
what I’m doing there  
and for a few beats I wonder  
did I just wake up  
or is this the dreaming place  
and the something awful is me


	13. Chapter 13

hope

the thing with feathers  
rises up and gets caught  
so quickly in your chest  
even as you lose and lose  
to where you shouldn’t expect  
to keep anything anymore  
you’re coughing up razor tipped wings  
barbs and nails falling from lips  
and piling up around you  
a minefield to burrow in and bury  
your soft underbelly  
it’s not light and beautiful  
not like in the beginning  
younger years of rosy quartz  
turning deep and jaded  
under pressure of disappointment and  
too many floors pulled from beneath you  
but it’s still breathing  
a steady thrum whispering  
behind cool steel and colder resolve  
refusing to quiet even after a  
thousand little deaths  
armor becoming heavy yet  
easier and easier to wear  
you think each time is the last  
and you will finally fade into unfeeling apathy  
you even enjoy the numbness  
gathering it up like the softest blanket  
as you try to sleep  
but then you cut yourself  
on that caged bird beating  
behind your teeth  
and remember how it feels  
to fly again


	14. Chapter 14

nostalgia is for suckers

it slip-slides in between night and day  
while i am staring into the strange  
darkness of my room  
creating shapes that move  
with will of their own  
just at that peripheral edge  
where you can’t be quite sure  
if you feel hallucinatory or hunted  
turning over and over  
and once more too far  
i am face to face  
with its faceless form  
not-eyes catching so intently  
my own slam shut with force  
the black behind them empty and safe

it is not discouraged

it slinks and prowls  
on the prey of my body  
flesh rioting as it comes to rest behind  
minutes pass in condensed eternities

until finally  
its not-mouth stretches out  
and presses a kiss among  
the blades of my back  
over the back of my heart  
as its not-hands plunge in and up  
my ribs to take hold of the front  
i can taste iron and salt rising up  
the back of my tongue like a flood  
and a death-cold sweat  
rolling over me like the tide

i just lay there and not sleep


	15. Chapter 15

not all hurts are the same

flung wide by my own hands  
i tear myself in fractions  
white bone looks back at me  
blinding from what once was blackened  
but instead is red with passion  
because  
my love  
my love  
you gathered back my scattered ashes  
singing sweetly all the while  
tucking neatly that little pile  
back where it belongs  
a spark catching and unfurling  
how i used to keep burning and burning  
match-strike sounding cruel and repeating  
fire a creature of gluttonous eating  
never soothed and always seething  
now it’s banked by yearning  
my love  
my love  
as you keep turning and turning  
back to me  
and curling around  
all these jagged peaks  
that marked the ways  
i didn’t know of kindness or peace  
just left with hurting hunger unleashed  
the only release to cease  
my unbearable march of days  
but oh  
my love  
my love  
you make me want to be soft  
a different hurt i’ve caught  
to ache in that tender break  
of my heart cracking open unafraid  
and leaking out your name  
over my lonely wants  
that alone i could not tame


	16. Chapter 16

heretics and hypocrites 

sunday school spent in lessons  
learning how to buy our blessings  
essence boiled down to reshape  
into differences and weapons  
no second guessing the teachings  
wearing faces of tolerance  
and acceptance  
a golden rule held high  
prodigal returning home   
to arms opened wide  
angels singing lullabies  
no-strings forgiveness so divine  
such pretty bedrock   
that only chokes and rots   
under sinister plots  
rules changing without a thought  
thought love was everything  
tied all our loose ends in strings   
but look again   
only wrapping to cover a multitude of sins  
so far from what you were taught  
in gentle songs and hymns  
this is how we treat our gods  
our shining guiding stars  
just the bits we like we steal  
and eat with every meal  
kneeling down with starving hearts  
worship turned to spiteful zeal  
stain spreading quick and stark  
we birth new ways to excuse  
and hide our hidden dark  
start out good then reconfigure  
gods old and new changed to   
something more familiar  
stripped of omniscient veil  
and drowned in human failings  
as the truth spills down that holy grail  
the root of all our ails  
our gods are not our makers  
we’re theirs


	17. Chapter 17

maybe you should pay attention

fortune teller telling stories  
weaving words that sing of glory  
an undercurrent of detailed gore  
unheeded warning of memento mori   
they know why you’ve come  
a bit of harmless fun  
not staring down the barrel of a gun  
of what wicked things you can’t outrun  
so the best they can express  
are the silver lined allegories   
designed to impress  
truth right where you can find it  
if not for such willful blindness  
you really want to be  
the new-old greek tragedy  
clawing eyes out due to   
self-fulfilling prophecy?  
more gratuitous than grave  
you want riches   
not to be saved  
keeping miss cleo on the line  
while cassandra is left behind  
you sit and wait for your fortunes to arrive  
believing you’re owed and you don’t have to try  
while the portents and omens  
circle and start to bleed you dry


	18. Chapter 18

opt-in not opt-out

between  
daylight illuminating  
gasping heart  
greedy wants  
and  
moonlight shading  
cold shoulders  
missed calls  
i question your taste  
in choosing how  
you give yourself away  
but the choice is the thing  
isn’t it?  
you keep choosing to be here  
over and again  
and letting you love me  
is rotten work  
but somebody has to do it

oh   
please  
somebody has to want to do it  
want to keep choosing me


	19. Chapter 19

once more with feeling, any feeling

i tick tick tick over   
and over   
and over  
and over  
minutes stretched to years  
eerie quiet and   
steady baseline  
nothing new past the cotton  
seas drowning the senses  
i don’t know how to be a person  
for a handful of lifetimes  
just a blank thing  
waiting to be filled  
waiting for something  
anything  
to move and awaken  
the pressure builds  
prickling in the small of my back  
growing large and heavy  
to nest over my sternum  
i cannot breathe  
i cannot breathe  
i cannot breathe  
until the only breath  
i can drink down  
is just as quickly cast out  
i want to scream down cities and stars  
hold the big dipper in shaking hands  
to scoop out anything of substance  
i might still think i own  
to show there is something  
anything  
within me  
i want to sink claws into tender earth  
to feel a softness i can only hope  
to handle with rusty gentleness  
to burrow   
and burrow  
and burrow  
until i can press my face   
against molten core   
to know warmth once again  
even if it hurts  
especially if it hurts  
i want to be able to cry for myself  
for what i used to be  
what i could be  
without thinking my tears empty  
strictly performative  
and absent of something  
anything  
real  
i want  
i want   
i want  
i don’t know  
but i do know  
i don’t want to sink again  
into those welcoming cruel waves  
into the deep of nothingness  
i want   
something  
anything  
everything


	20. Chapter 20

the only ethical consumption is to eat the rich

don’t insult wolves darling  
by comparing men to them  
kings and cowards and covetous crooks  
all fall short in the end  
greed sinking deeper than fangs  
entitlement sharper than claws  
lining pockets with suffering  
while the wolf smiles with empty jaws  
the wolves created the hunt  
and stalk and tear and feast  
but the harsh lesson of taking  
has naught to do with teeth  
one eats and eats for hunger  
the other feeds and feeds for profit  
nothing natural in the way  
they play with their prey led to market  
crunch of bone and creaking metal  
sound the same to indifference  
in the name of bigger and better  
blood drawn out with interest  
tossing scraps out back again  
for the lesser to scrape together  
and fight amongst themselves  
distraction over scent of predator  
so no my dear  
don’t call them wolves  
these savage calculating things  
in a class all their own for  
cruelty is the food of men and not beasts


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine’s day *gestures vaguely*

it’s a love poem, i swear

soft love sweet love  
never say you’re sorry love  
it’s a nice kind of dream  
hold tight with both hands love  
and at least half the days  
it’s as real as we can swing it  
but the other half are watching  
and waiting to outwit and slip  
in between to gnaw at loose bits  
days of quick barbs and silent shards  
working deep into shuttered hearts  
smiles lash too fast to reach eyes  
and land on tender parts  
so keep soft and keep sweet  
but never forget what can lurk underneath  
don’t say you’ll never break me  
and i’ll say the bitter truth  
that i’ll probably break you too  
both carelessly and with intent to bruise  
it’s bound to happen  
win or lose  
but the good news love  
is what comes after  
we break and shatter and scream down rafters  
hurt in all the ways that matter  
and the things we say we might even mean  
those ugly thoughts like daggers  
break and break and break again  
we learn this song and dance  
not to break like glass  
but like waves upon sand  
just to gather back en masse  
a quiet sea once more  
forgive and never quite forget  
so the lesson sticks  
and we know we’re not perfect  
that love can fly or drag you down to the depths  
it’s knowing you’re going to ache and resent  
but trusting you’ll both try and try to repent  
and be better than anger and regret  
saying i love you is only half  
the other part is hearing it back  
and after all the fights and cracks  
we’ll just have to keep trusting  
that those words can come  
and catch us fast  
and we can be soft and sweet  
until we break and mend anew


	22. Chapter 22

wanting works better in concrete not abstracts

i never thought passion  
would require so much work  
not in the physical sense  
of execution  
of hands becoming callused  
and joints aching  
of mind becoming twisted up  
between rapid fire and snail’s pace  
that’s honest work  
knowing the reward of something   
even half-finished awaits  
the real work  
the one that puts biting nails into palms  
and makes me sit there unblinking static  
oh that real struggle is the spark  
how do you fan the flames  
when the secret of fire has been lost  
and you don’t know what to burn  
except yourself?  
they say do what you love  
and happiness will follow  
but then i don’t remember what i love  
or if i do  
i’m scared to touch it again  
so will happiness not follow me?


	23. Chapter 23

linear progression is so last whenever

there’s a theory about time  
that i quite like  
wherein tense is a made up concept  
to organize the roiling chaos  
that would otherwise overwhelm our brains  
past and present and future  
just words erected around  
things with no borders  
intersecting and interchanging always  
there are no definitive points  
ancestors waking with first breath  
overlaid upon dying thoughts of descendants  
and every moment in between  
peeking through now and again  
that sense of deja vu or premonition  
a loose thread to pull upon  
when we glimpse the truth in daydreams  
i have never felt this theory  
more than when i think of you  
and how they say  
this too shall pass  
as if to negate the pain  
and take away its meaning  
in this world of time running together  
i constantly lose you  
but i also get to keep you  
and those days i feel an extra warmth  
are the ones where some version  
of you and i live together  
so i can take the hurt  
stretched out over eternity  
because it’s wrapped up in you too


	24. Chapter 24

along the line so fine

there’s a party in the graveyard  
in the spotlight of the moon  
you can feel it calling sickly sweetly  
chanting soon soon soon  
branches swaying out   
getting caught upon your coat  
hands cold on caging iron  
warning under hypnotic note  
the gates open silently  
with barely even a touch  
hinges worn down smooth  
opened too often to rust  
moonlight glowing brighter now  
and shadows settling deeper  
setting the stage so perfectly   
for a witching hour feature  
your light feet walk and weave  
among the crumbling markers  
the dead already awake and aware  
looking for careless partners  
song rising up and clear  
through dirt so loosely packed  
so close just on the other side  
the door between just cracked  
beat kept in bass heavy throb  
of hearts long put to rest  
bones skittering and dancing  
recalling the same old steps  
air full with a strange magic  
gathering up inside your lungs  
every breath you take tastes  
of lonely songs unsung  
as you dance and dance  
through night so heavy  
keep quick and true and  
may your step be steady  
a jump out of tune  
or a trip in the beat  
well that’s a forfeit darling  
and the dead play for keeps  
i hope you make it out alive  
and see that sunrise break  
blood from worn out feet  
the only thing they take  
quiet earth once more unmoving  
as they sleep and dream and wait


	25. Chapter 25

questionnaire

one

how do you see yourself?  
do you cover every mirror and avoid tinted windows  
in the fear they will break under your looks?   
do you only see yourself in the curved distortions  
of a lonely glass on an empty table?  
i know you feel wrong and like your skin is stretched taut  
over parts both too hard and too soft  
the curve of fangs and stomach and horns  
not the curves you’re supposed to have  
not enough and too much and no no not like that  
do you think you’re ugly in this world so manufactured  
that beauty can be such a cold and calculated thing?  
can you even see yourself?

two

what’s inside your head?  
you think you are the only one with such thoughts  
dark and unnatural and creating a scream  
deep in your belly  
do you think if you scream enough they will be silenced?  
or will they only be given life to wreak havoc outside your mind?  
i know you have ideas drenched in  
blood and pain and sorrow  
and you fear these intruders taking hold of you like a vise  
but do you give these thoughts action?  
do you know it’s what you do that counts?

three

are your hands more suited for mistakes than successes?  
do you feel your touch is a poison  
infecting those who come too close?  
you feel most like yourself when you are hurting  
and you don’t feel the ripples of your good intentions  
can you ever feel worthy surrounded by quick and blind judgment  
that never looks beneath the surface?  
accident should not define you but what you do after  
do you try to fix what’s broken?

four

do you give yourself a name?  
are your shoulders heaving under the weight  
of freak and villain and horror?  
you have forgotten to give yourself kindness  
and permission to change and grow  
how can you call yourself a monster?  
don’t you know the truth would turn to ash in the real monster’s throat?  
names hold power and the more you call yourself monster  
the more you can excuse  
do you know what it’s like to be called a friend?

five

do you know how many stars have aligned  
and how many cells have come together to make you?  
how the earth has given you life  
and how many small acts have brushed softly against you?  
do you know you are loved?


	26. Chapter 26

i think i need to brush up on color theory

i was feeling blue  
so i painted myself in yellow  
dipped each finger in  
left streaks on temples   
and behind ears to mellow  
drying quickly and flaking off  
to get caught underfoot   
while I breathed deep to catch   
citrus tang or yarrow  
my mouth could only speak  
in greens so bittersweet  
i tore that soft pink   
and tried to let it dissolve   
under my tongue  
but i was unused to  
honeyed sugar that stung  
and laid heavy in my lungs  
i picked at the purple-black  
pressed beneath eyes and nails  
stripping back veils  
to find a lighter periwinkle  
that didn’t want to be seen  
so i patched it with fake  
peaches and cream  
i had a belly full of neon orange  
so sharp and out of place  
i tried to press calming teal  
into such jagged space  
but it didn’t fill me up   
didn’t taste of that same grace  
i was feeling blue  
so i swallowed and swallowed that red  
hoping to make a sort of violet  
but i got a mottled mess instead  
and now i don’t know what color  
i’m left with  
but it’s just gonna spill and spread


	27. Chapter 27

know your enemy

fat lip black eye  
you should see the other guy  
around the corner  
behind my back  
thinking they’re so sly  
but I got them in my peripherals  
no matter how ephemeral  
i’ll lash out at each and every  
breath on my neck so visceral  
close and close and closer  
can’t shake these wraiths  
trying to catch those breaks  
quiet never feeling quite safe  
hunted and haunted by  
what i can’t say  
i live in violence  
and die in the silence  
no resting heartbeat for the unrestful  
no one but me is an island  
it seems  
so chin up arm back  
always looking to attack  
chase those shadows  
find their tracks  
i get close and close and closer  
quick flash  
and i’m ready  
knuckles splitting on  
glass so heavy  
fresh blood and promise  
of victory heady  
but pause  
wait  
full view of the enemy  
oh  
ah fuck  
i failed the mirror test  
guess i don't know me best  
but now i can see so clearly  
fat lip black eye  
guess there’s no other guy  
just myself looking back  
and wondering why


	28. Chapter 28

soulmates are a wedding industry scam

you’re telling me that  
i have lived and died and lived again  
and i am still the same jagged piece  
that fits perfectly with you?  
through time and galaxies   
and decay and regrowth   
we are unchanged on some basic level?  
i don’t buy it  
this cheap trick void of responsibility  
real romance slides in  
on the quiet feet of a million little choices  
a million ways of saying   
i know you and i see you  
and i still want more   
i could make things easier on myself  
but where’s the feeling in that?  
fate’s a bitch  
and destiny’s an excuse  
we worked too hard to get here  
to give credit so easily away  
to not stand eye to eye  
and wrist pressed to wrist  
pulse points calling in a   
symphony wrung out  
melody that much sweeter  
for the inevitable expiration date  
my body will change and  
my brain will change and   
my circumstances and best and worst   
will change  
but that essence   
that soul of mine  
will love you now   
will choose to love you now  
and we’ll take this stolen time  
and these borrowed bones  
to see how far we’ll go


	29. Chapter 29

still

on my weaker days  
i’m bitter he called me in  
to say goodbye  
i only have so many  
memories of her  
and that’s unfortunately  
the loudest  
without her sweet  
movements


	30. Chapter 30

apology

i don’t know why i spoke  
with brambles lining my throat  
oh that’s another lie  
to add to the pile  
of all the ways i’m broke  
and all the ways i want to break  
the things that make me smile

got bad days aplenty going back  
and ahead another stack  
can’t tell which ones are earned   
from those overblown  
excuses to hack   
cut through you so maybe  
i won’t feel this bad alone

that’s not a fair shake  
so i’ll speak around the ache  
clumsy with kindness  
but maybe i’ll learn  
how to give and not take  
and sorry will become  
something that won’t burn


	31. Chapter 31

i think these liminal spaces are trying to tell me something

you finally put yourself to sleep  
at three fifty two in the morning  
only to slowly come awake  
with the muted dawn settling   
down into the blinds   
smudged indigo and soft-brushed gray  
seeming to hold on tight  
long past when you think the gold   
and orange should start yawning in  
you wonder when your alarm  
will finally sound but you can’t   
break the spell by rolling over to check

it is a brisk morning and the air  
tastes clear in the back of your throat   
as you walk down to the small pool  
that paying rent gives you access to  
no one else is around and you jump in  
to sink like a weighted blanket  
and rest gently at the bottom  
fingers finding coarse grooves  
and growing roots that live as  
long as that crisp breath you  
took into your chest can stand  
sunbeams weak and wobbling  
as they fracture above you

there is an afternoon storm coming  
that you can feel in the downy   
hair at your temples and in  
the crooks of your elbows  
but you still stop at the playground  
that sits between work and home  
there are usually children screaming and   
laughing as they hang from bars  
but now it’s quiet and so very still  
you climb to the tippy top  
onto the sloped roof of hard plastic  
and sit looking up at the clouds  
waiting for them to break open   
and clean the dirt from your face

the highway is a different beast at midnight  
humming brighter for the vast and lonely  
dark that stretches out from its borders  
miles and miles eaten up while your eyes  
connect with the middle distance  
and your mind drifts until something   
makes you look and see  
the gas gauge is low  
you pull off at the convenient station  
that popped up at just the right time  
and as you fill the tank you realize  
you and the window-blurred cashier  
are the only heartbeats you can hear   
overlaying buzzing fluorescent lights 

the nurse wakes you again at   
one thirty one in the morning   
she needs to take another blood sample  
and is blessedly quick about it   
the needle in and out before   
you can even lift your lids   
more than halfway  
she leaves and you can’t   
get back to sleep  
no matter how tired you are  
and you are so very tired  
but you just trace the same shapes  
into the ceiling for a small eternity  
and think that she took more   
than your blood with her  
feeling like a theory of a person  
than any sort of definitive proof  
you wonder how long you’ll get this time   
between hospital visits

the grass in the backyard of   
your childhood home is so green  
and the slightly wild and overgrown  
feel of it tickles along the arches of feet   
and between your toes  
you watch the dust particles dance   
in the sun just warming up  
and you smile while sipping   
at an endless cup of late-dawn coffee


	32. Chapter 32

god i’m dumb when it comes to emotional intelligence

get in trouble  
get right back out  
you got a basic tongue  
in that acid mouth  
surprised you don’t choke  
on all the salt you spout  
wish i hadn’t known  
it was gonna go south  
yeah, knew you’d be trouble  
and i wouldn’t get free  
go big or tear the house  
down to bricks and beams  
never go small with things  
that could destroy me  
hate to feel a bit alive  
in every gut-punch scream  
tearing at each other to  
always be the winner  
over an imagined prize  
so deeply cracked and bitter  
wish i could’ve learned  
that lesson earlier  
not to love something just  
for being familiar


	33. Chapter 33

spooked

sitting here haunted again  
don’t know the why or when  
but something’s following   
and something’s burrowing  
into all the places i’ve been

it starts in a white picket home  
slow and soft the shadows roam  
what’s under the bed  
and hushed brittle voices  
nightmares of things yet unknown

it packs itself along to a dorm  
small room that never gets warm  
the silence isn’t quiet   
and the air has weight  
lurking with no obvious form

it runs free while i pay rent  
stealing strength before it gets spent  
the sheets are always calling  
and i can never find where  
whatever i lay down is sent

still sitting   
now i know  
you don’t have to be dead   
to be a ghost


	34. Chapter 34

sorry we’re no longer doing layaways

why are you only sorry   
when i’m gone  
you speak the words   
where i can’t hear them  
why do you love me   
when i’m not there  
you reach out   
where i can’t feel you  
am i only to be admired   
from afar  
only to be savored   
later and later  
always get back to me   
later  
what does my ghost   
say that i don’t   
or is it what it doesn’t say  
silence letting you fill in   
what you want  
you’re scared of what   
you can’t get back  
and i’m terrified of what   
i’m willing to give   
can’t you meet me at the half  
at the quarter   
at the sixty-fourth  
i have to draw the line   
somewhere don’t i  
don’t i have to draw it  
around my chest  
i’m tired of leaving   
just so you’ll notice   
the quiet  
didn’t know what you had   
til it was gone  
didn’t you know  
then you never had me at all   
darling  
i tell myself   
you never had me at all  
and maybe soon i’ll believe it  
and i’ll have a heart   
that doesn’t hurt  
and you’ll have a dream   
with no heart


	35. Chapter 35

forgot it’s give yourself a break, not just break

too full up  
nowhere to put it down  
this anger’s got a hold on me  
i wear it like a crown  
heavy and heaving  
enough to snap my neck  
this question of succession   
leaves me in a wreck  
i call it revolution  
a sharp and radical thing  
tenderness a stranger  
no longer will it sing  
the monsters are too big  
the beasts too quick and quiet  
rage can’t find a home  
so in my breast builds a riot  
bite my own wrist   
and not the hand that feeds  
i say i’ve got a mouthful  
but it’s really just a scream  
don’t know what else to do  
i’ll just scream scream scream


	36. Chapter 36

old lies and horizon lines

you take me aside and say  
listen close child  
close too close  
for no one else to beguile  
you say i’ll be safe  
i’ll have miles spread before me  
no wandering fears just  
adventure wandering free  
you say take care and go far  
then you call me to your side  
you call me a winged thing  
but won’t soon let me fly  
not now and not then  
and not ever or an age  
i may have wings  
but they’re clipped by your cage  
i was meant to see the world  
not carry it on my shoulders  
you were supposed to make  
promises, not a soldier  
how can i go on, i ask  
oh, how can i take the sky  
you ask won’t you stay and break awhile  
no, no not i  
i’m done with the shards and  
the pointed sharp things  
that used to be mine and  
so soft they could sing  
i gather up my feathers  
and sink them back into my core  
i forgot their home is in me  
not for you to keep score  
it aches and it burns  
in the sweetest rebirth  
you won’t bring me down  
to catch on bitter scorched earth  
i know i can go on, i know  
oh, i can take the sky  
you beg won’t you stay and die awhile  
no, no not i  
i gasp  
i breathe  
i sing  
no, no not i  
you see  
for i am a winged thing


	37. Chapter 37

executive dysfunction ain’t that fun sis

it’s been two weeks   
and the glass is still there  
sitting and waiting on the corner   
of my bedside table  
empty except for the long-melted ice  
it’s the first thing   
i see when i wake   
and the last thing   
i avoid eyeing at night  
it would be so easy to bring it   
downstairs to the kitchen   
and yet  
these books are staring me down  
from shelves and counters   
and piles on the floor  
words and worlds to lose time in  
but i’ve misplaced the enthusiasm   
i bought them with  
and toss the leftover change   
in a jar to collect dust  
i want to whisper to   
cracked-open spines   
and yet  
my friends have been waiting   
outside my door  
knocking on windows to ask   
come out and play  
just for a while, for a day   
or an hour  
and i always say   
of course of course  
i’ll be there in a minute  
i wanna get with it   
and yet  
now the work is piling up  
look away and look back   
they’re multiplying like rabbits  
i’m too hurried and harried  
even though it wouldn’t take   
that long if i just fucking  
had at it  
and i need that paycheck  
and yet  
the medicine in my cabinet   
is running low  
and i’ve been keeping the doctor   
on hold till the crows   
come home  
to roost and i think  
i’ll get to it, i’ll get to it  
you think i would get around   
to what keeps me alive   
and yet and yet and yet   
it’s been months   
and that fucking glass is still there


	38. Chapter 38

i hope there’s a gift receipt

they say to guard it close darling  
that chain around your throat  
your name a heavy pendant  
sinking into your breast  
it rests against those scales  
that weigh and waver  
between blessing and a curse  
and you can never tell  
which one is worse  
this thing that wraps around you  
tastes of expectation  
exaltation  
an exhalation held til you choke  
as you wonder which parts  
are spoken into existence  
every time someone says  
the name carved on your heart  
in a hand not your own  
who do they want you to be?  
a legacy, the hype  
stereotype they don’t want to right  
someone worthy of fame or blame  
what’s in your name?  
for not getting a voice in such a choice  
this business is unfairly fair game  
for everyone but you  
so i don’t understand the warnings  
the whispers and sighs that come calling  
and bawling  
hollering to keep it near and dear  
and not give it away so free  
i’ve never held the power of my name  
it’s always been held over me  
so how can I give  
that which was never mine?  
that strange magic  
shouldn’t be in  
what they call you  
but instead in  
what you want to answer to


	39. Chapter 39

sheer lunacy 

wanna drink down moonlight  
feel something new tonight  
reach up to cup that curve  
like my body never learned  
how to recognize the gravity  
keeping my feet captive on earth  
breathless weightless  
goddamn i couldn’t care less  
for anything except  
bright white directly over head  
slicing through space and time  
and power lines  
helping shed shadows i tread  
that extraction of tooth and claw  
burning and ruthlessly kind  
take the poison from my mind  
it can only kill because  
they told me it will  
again and again until it forms  
that bitter pill i won’t swallow anymore  
so i’ll be swallowed up  
by moonlight instead  
until i can’t see or hear  
or be touched by anything  
just an endless expanse  
to spread


	40. Chapter 40

we’ve gotta stop meeting like this

welcome to my table  
do you like it?  
i’ve spent the last few days  
building it to cradle   
the hand you stretch out  
palm up and ready  
fingers curled and steady  
but the bite of nails always   
wading   
through the wood grain  
my fingerprints go for wrist  
and press down   
restless animal tap tap tapping  
morse code beat of dots and   
dashes   
against the rocks  
that sit heavy in my belly  
the only food i’ve eaten while  
making the feast for this  
our standing appointment  
so i may be too tense and bitter  
for you to chew on   
but instead your eyes are   
reigning   
over the curve of my jaw  
falling wide around my neck  
i’m so easily cracked open and  
red   
drips down as i swallow the wine  
try not to choke   
as it coats lungs and not throat  
i’ve never felt more like  
pray  
to whatever’s listening  
and when silence comes  
on the backs of your greedy sighs  
repeat to myself  
i’mfinei’mfinei’mfinei’mfinei’m  
finally   
losing my mind  
do you mind?  
of course not  
it’s the course you crave  
now the real game begins  
as the clock ticks down  
a minute a month a few years more  
i stitch myself together so i  
seam   
by seam start   
to lay out my cloth   
and light the candles  
with the banked fire  
smoking beneath my tongue  
we sit now hand to  
i  
sharpen my teeth on the  
porcelain plates set down  
is this the meal  
my hunger   
devours yours?  
let’s eat and find out


End file.
